


Aliens Vs Green-Eyed Monsters

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: There's no getting away from it, Trip Tucker is woman-bait.  For once, it's not the aliens threatening trouble during First Contact.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
> This one is set a few weeks after the boys getting together. Nobody knows yet, which is at Malcolm's request. He's got to regret that, right?
> 
> As usual with me, sentences in italics represent a character's thoughts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small advance party is visiting Enterprise in orbit over the peaceful planet Obari. Most people seem to be enjoying themselves.
> 
> One person isn't. Any guesses?  
> 

He stood quietly in the doorway, keen grey eyes shifting restlessly around the crowded room; the ever-vigilant security officer even at a civilised drinks reception for VIP guests on a peaceful getting-to-know-you mission. 

To do anything else, Malcolm Reed considered, would be to draw attention to himself. Right now, with steam building up inside his chest and his fingers beginning to itch with the desire to wrap themselves around, if not a phase pistol, at least an old-fashioned policeman's truncheon, that was the last thing he needed.

"Hey, Malcolm. Good party."

 _Oh, bloody wonderful_. How to make a bad evening worse - have the too-sharp green eyes of Jonathan Archer catching him grimace - and he must've done that as the brazen hussy ran her hand down _his_ exposed forearm for the fifth time in a minute - and deciding somebody ought to jolly poor old anti-social Malcolm along. 

"It seems to be going well, Sir."

 _Ouch_. The words were frosted over and Archer noticed it, his full lips pulling into a worried half-frown. "Any reason it shouldn't Lieutenant?" he murmured, leaning in toward the smaller man. It was all Reed could do to hold still against the flagrant invasion of his space. 

"We do call each other aliens for a reason, Captain," he returned mildly. The older man relaxed into a ready grin.

"I still get suckered into thinking because they look humanoid, they think like we do," he admitted, accepting a fault in a social setting his Chief Tactical Officer had been gently trying to point out in an official capacity since leaving spacedock. "But so far, they've shown no intention of taking over the ship...

"And as there are only the emissary, his daughter a translator and a secretary, Hoshi should be equal to stopping any nefarious schemes on her own," Reed finished, reliant on wry humour to satisfy the man. The daughter had a conquest in mind, of that he was certain, but it was hardly the kind a head of security could discuss with his captain.

Especially when said captain was oblivious to his personal - very personal - interest in the woman's prey.

Commander Charles Tucker the Third chose that precise moment to laugh, golden head thrown back, at something his companion was saying. 

Jonathan Archer gave his armoury officer a wry smile, silently accepting the younger man's sour response to his attempt at friendly banter. "If you're satisfied there's no threat - stand down the watch, Lieutenant," he teased, inadvertently catching the engineer's eye and getting a grin for his obvious troubles. "In other words - grab a drink, kick back, and relax."

"But not too much, sir." The emissary was hovering by the buffet tables and, assuming he wanted (again) to buttonhole the captain Reed gave the older officer a small smile and eased away. 

Anyone else would have missed the minimal shake of Archer's sandy head; the momentary expression of dismay that flitted across the man's craggy, perma-tanned features. But by the same token, Reed mused, the assembled assortment of one-eyed dolts charitably described as Starfleet's finest hadn't even noticed their Chief Engineer being physically assaulted by yet another oversexed alien female.

_Phlox had better prepare those neo-natal lectures of his. This one'll impregnate him with triplets, I'd bet my best phase rifle on it. Bitch. And he needn't think I'm mopping up their green alien sick, however brilliantly he sucks me in the morning!_


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm isn't alone in finding the party a tad trying...

"How very _brave_ of you, Commander, to even attempt to make an ally of this _Zho'kaan_!" Her long hand slid the full length of his arm, the fingertips giving a leisurely massage to the back of his hand. Trip smiled nervously and focussed on not tensing up beneath an unmistakable caress. Long ebony lashes fluttered, their lift revealing catlike eyes of pure gold. "A lesser man would have killed him where he stood - and I have no doubt that to a warrior of your prowess, that would not have been difficult."

"Oh, I'm no warrior, Ma'am; I leave that to Lieutenant Reed an' his team." He couldn't even edge away from her because Madame Lantellis, with a diplomatic smoothness her daddy couldn't match, had manoeuvred him smack into a corner, trapped between her lissom form and a stack of unwanted tables. "He's the guy you want in a fight, not me."

"Lieutenant Reed? But you are bigger - you must be so much _stronger_ , Commander." Again the hand shifted, bunching the fine cloth of his dress uniform sleeve. Momentarily the mesmerising eyes flicked away, assessing the slightly built Englishman and dismissing him with an arrogance that made Tucker's blood boil. "Surely if it were to come to conflict, your greater bulk..."

"He could have me on my ass - my backside, I mean - before I could make a move." And if the platinum arrows being fired their way were any guide, the Obari delegation would be getting a demonstration of those lightning fighting skills any minute. "Uh, your glass is empty, can I get you a refill?"

"Please, Commander, I thought we had established my name is Lantellis." _Praying Mantis more likely_ , ran through the Southerner's mind, his escape plan thwarted as the alien beauty hung onto his arm while he moved. "And perhaps you might describe some of the delicacies your cook has provided for our party? My father seems to be enjoying those anaemic white objects with a pink stripe through immensely."

"Ham sandwiches, Ma'- Lantellis." The rapid correction won him an approving pup of crimson lips, though her golden eyes remained fixed with narrow suspicion on the offending objects. "Standard human picnic food. And those are pretzels: you can get 'em in sweet or savoury, but since Chef made 'em, I'm guessin' those'll be salty. Um, you wanna try some?"

"Thank you, Trip. You are very kind." His arm, Tucker decided, was going to cramp up anytime now if she kept trying to massage the taut muscles beneath her touch. And he didn't want to find out what creepy cure Phlox would suggest for the lockjaw he could feel tightening up his facial muscles. _C'mon, Malcolm, set off one of those goddamn tactical alerts of yours!_

The moment the thought crossed his mind his eyes took advantage of the distraction, scanning the perimeter of the room for his lover. When they snagged midway with a pair of ice-cold orbs that could've drilled bore-holes through granite, his depressed spirits sank like tar into his boots.

Madame Lantellis wasn't being subtle about her attraction. And unbeknown to anybody else in the crowded room, Lieutenant Stiff-Upper-Lip was throwing one of his silent and deadly British tantrums about it.

Quite irrationally Tucker felt his discomfort flare into resentment against his unreasonably secretive lover. He'd been ready weeks ago to start holding hands in the mess hall, convinced nobody would turn a hair and ready to knock six kinds of shit out of anyone who upset his man, but oh, no. Lieutenant Rulebook could quote Starfleet's non-fraternisation rules chapter and verse, and he had at great length three days ago, at zero-two-hundred hours, when Trip had dared suggest they might quit creeping around just to spend some intimate time together.

With a deliberate toss of the head he turned away from the sulking Englishman, for the first time relaxing his appropriated right arm while treating Lantellis to a cocky smile. "Mah Momma brought me up to be a gentleman, Ma'am," he drawled, and even though he knew it was all for show he was delighted by her little simper. _Still got it, Tucker._

From the corner of his eye he saw the love of his life flinch. _Dammit, Trip! You know how insecure he is, you great blockhead!_

"She would be proud to see how successful she has been." Delicately nibbling on the sandwich he thrust her way, Lantellis batted her eyelashes, taking advantage of his distraction to drag him back to their isolated corner. "Your parents are still living, Commander - or may I call you Trip?"

"Uh, yeah, Trip's fine." Identifying the reassuring bulk of his commanding officer approaching Tucker mouthed a dramatic _Help!!_ over his captor's lace-covered shoulder. 

Jonathan Archer grinned and waved. _Bastard._

Oh, well. Hoshi and Travis were accompanying the Obari translator - looking lost without any actual translating to do, Tucker noticed - via the buffet tables toward the window right across from him. Surely they'd see his bug-eyes and come to the rescue.

_Fat chance!_ ran through his increasingly fried brain as the two ensigns gave him respectively a knowing smile and an exaggerated waggle of the eyebrows, clearly enjoying the sight of Commander Tucker seducing another alien chick. There were times he wished he hadn't played along with the whole Ah'len, Liana and Kaitaama thing. 

Maybe if he'd 'fessed up about his gentlemanly streak, people might believe he wanted to be hauled from this exotic specimen's all-too-literal clutches.

The closer Lantellis inched the more conscious he became of the still, watchful figure by the door. Johnny and his buddies wouldn't be snickering for long if their obvious enjoyment of his predicament trigged off the most volatile substance on the ship: the tightly-leashed, altogether flammable, Reed temper.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's bad evening is about to get worse. Much, much worse.

"Yours is the most hospitable species to have entered Obari territory these many decades past, Lieutenant." Ambassador Lantel blocked his view of proceedings at, Reed mused, precisely the right moment to save either his daughter or Malcolm's own lover from being glared to a cinder on the floor. "I have been thanking your remarkable Mister Chef for his hospitality, but perhaps the Universal Translator is not wholly reliable? He did not seem to understand me..."

"Chef's usual method of communication is non-linguistic, Ambassador." A diplomatic term for assorted grunting sounds, Reed conceded inwardly, particularly for a man in so undiplomatic a mood. "It'll be some time before the UT adapts to such an _individual_ method. I hope you're finding the food palatable?"

"I intend to ask Captain Archer for several recipes, Lieutenant, but tell me - you are a particular friend of Commander Tucker, I believe?"

Obari were as thick-skinned as homo sapiens themselves and in that instant, with every hackle he possessed fully raised, Malcolm Reed was devoutly thankful for the fact. "Commander Tucker is a friend of everyone, Ambassador."

Obtuse but not unintelligent: he knew immediately the evasion had been registered and his heart sank, the strategist in him already calculating its effect on his inquisitor. _More alike than we first seem, Captain_ , the Armoury Officer told his C.O. silently. "But among this crew, the excellent Mister Phlox informs me _you_ are the companion of his leisure hours. You must know him very well."

"Our areas of expertise overlap." If hedging was making matters worse, his only option was to plump for the risky strategy of direct reply. "Yes, I'd say we know each other quite well."

"Then I wonder if you could tell me..." Standing on tiptoes the chubby diplomat almost reached high enough to whisper right into his ear. "Has he yet produced offspring?"

"I beg your pardon?" Visions of Trip lifting his shirt to display his Xyrillian pregnancy to a crew of noisily unsympathetic Klingons ran through his head, and Reed was grateful he hadn't had time to take up Archer's suggestion of a drink; not only Lantel's pristine white vestments but half the lounge could have been sprayed with the best of Chef's _special occasion_ claret in that moment. 

The lilac tinge of embarrassment surged over the bridge of Lantel's hooked nose. "I donâ€™t mean to be impertinent, Lieutenant, but you may have noticed my daughter's _particular_ interest in the commander."

"I'm sure he's flattered." Either the lady in question resembled her mother or there was a particularly exotic cuckoo in the ambassador's nest. Under the alien's narrow stare, Reed hastened to take the edge from his words with a pained compliment. "Madame Lantellis is very beautiful."

"Indeed; and ripe to be mated." Grey head waggling, Lantel squeezed his arm and leaned closer, giving Reed the queasy feeling of being a man trapped into an unholy alliance. "Her chosen one on Obari has yet to come to full maturity. I assume Mister Tucker...."

_From the profoundly uncomfortable to the utterly bloody bizarre_. Now he was discussing his boyfriend's fertility as if Trip were a stallion being acquired for stud. "Is quite mature, but no. He has no children - as far as I'm aware."

"Excellent, a continent man! And what of his family's situation - I assume they are settled and prosper?"

"I'm not acquainted with the Tuckers, Ambassador." _Come back Silik, all is forgiven!_ "But I happen to know that Captain Archer has been a guest at the family home many times. I'm sure he could answer any questions you might have about their _suitability_."

The sarcasm flew at comet-level over Lantel's nodding head. "That is reassuring, Lieutenant. You may have a daughter of you own to see mated one day, and I have no doubt these tedious concerns are of equal importance to human fathers."

"I dare say they are, sir."

Conversation lapsed. Reed drew his lower lip between his teeth and nibbled, scanning the blank screen of his mind for a suitable method of escape. "It would do my daughter much good to be tumbled by a fruitful alien," Lantel announced into the silence, evidently unaware of the UT's lapse into shocking colloquialism. "Given the immaturity of her Chosen. Perhaps if I were to approach Captain Archer..."

"I'm sure he would say Commander Tucker is old enough to use his own judgement." And if he used it wrongly, Lantellis would be the last _tumble_ the half-witted Southern dick would be enjoying for a while. 

Grinningly oblivious to the bleak thoughts tightening his companion's jaw Lantel nodded and stroked his prominent nose. "A wise attitude; a captain, like a father, ought not enquire too closely into the private affairs of those within his care! Thank you, Lieutenant Reed. My mind is much eased by your candour."

He waited until the little alien had waddled away before responding under his breath, already turned on his heel toward the exit and without bothering to seek his commanding officer's dismissal. "Glad to be of service, I'm sure."

He managed to get into the turbolift before nausea struck and he had to clutch his rolling stomach like a novice mariner in a storm. Beautiful. Ripe. Interested. All the things he'd been dreading for the past six heavenly weeks.

Stumbling off the lift Reed let his feet guide him as they would, blind to his familiar surroundings while a sequence of hateful images rolled in slow-motion across his mind. Trip, that sultry, knowing smile parting his luscious mouth as it descended on hers; their bodies, tawny-gold and cream, revealing inch by tantalising inch; the slow, sweet glide to horizontal, her mouth opened wide in a moan as he entered her, that thick, strong staff sliding so easily into her humid depths...

His door hissed shut behind him. Wrenching off his uniform Reed flung himself face-down on the bed, vainly hoping darkness would blot out the tormenting slideshow. It didn't.

Worst of all, he knew what was still to come. Because if envisaging his man having sex with the gormless tart made him feel this bad, picturing the afterglow, all honeyed vowels and languid touches, would have him positively suicidal before midnight.

"Pull yourself together, Reed," he growled into the pillow, too miserable to disdain the sniffle that broke through the admonition. He'd known from the start this would happen.

The other shoe had dropped. At least nobody needed to know it when he was dumped by a boyfriend he'd never actually, officially, possessed.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's night isn't really going that much better than Malcolm's, but at least he can do something about it...

"Hey, Hosh. You seen Malcolm around?"

"Not for a while, Commander." Distracted from an in-depth discussion on Obari syntax, Hoshi Sato blinked up at her friend as if she couldn't quite place his face. "Last time I saw him, he was talking to the ambassador."

"Oh." In that case, Tucker decided, his lover would've excused himself and made a bolt for a place of safety. Probably one full of guns, knowing Mal's horror of small-talk with strangers. "Maybe I'll go ask him, then."

Hoshi's only answer was a Chef-like shrug, his existence already forgotten in the wonder of discovering another new dialect. With a shake of the head Trip spun on his heel, only to go giddy with dismay as he realised what approaching Lantel right now would mean.

Facing Lantellis.

The lissom daughter towered over her tubby parent, her long hands moving elegantly in time with her rapid speech. Lantel's glance flicked his way.

If his clothing had just dissolved on the spot Trip didn't think he could have felt more exposed. Identical smiles tweaked their lips.

Steeling himself he pushed back his shoulders, pinned on his cockiest smile, and ambled over.

"Commander, how very kind of you to join us." A withered claw outstretched in the human greeting, Lantel pumped the hand Trip proffered with clammy enthusiasm. "My daughter and I were just remarking how very _courteous_ you and your companions have been toward us."

"We're out here t' make friends, Ambassador." He didn't usually blush easily. But then, Tucker mused, he wasn't usually being subjected to a virtual strip-search in a roomful of colleagues. "Umm, I was lookin' for Lieutenant Reed. Hoshi said she saw him talkin' to you a while back?"

"I believe the Lieutenant retired soon after, Commander."

_Shit_. Malcolm calling it a night while there were strangers aboard. That was trouble with a capital T. "Ah, that sounds like a good idea. Maybe I'll do the same myself," he heard himself babble. 

Father and daughter shared a look that sent his heart through the soles of his boots and down at least two decks. "Perhaps, Commander, you would be kind enough to escort my daughter to her chambers?" Lantel suggested, almost pushing the woman into his path. Fire spread from the base of his throat. Trip cleared his throat.

"Uh, sure," he managed lamely, cursing the relentless childhood drilling of a Southern belle determined her boy would grow up to deserve the title of gentleman. His arm went out before he could stop it and he had to fight the urge to bolt when Lantellis tucked it possessively through her own, pausing to smirk at a couple of wide-eyed female crew nearby. Jennifer Kelly threw her departmental chief a theatrical simper.

Crewman Hague of mineralogy pursed her lips and turned away. The alien grip on his arm tightened. "I see you have _admirers_ among the lower ranks, Trip," she crooned much too loudly, lingering over his name. The scientist's shoulders heaved.

"Or they got no respect for their superiors, Ma'am." _Great_. This was going to be the talk of the ship for the next week. _Hey, you hear about Commander Tucker's latest conquest? What did Starfleet soak him in before launch, Love Potion Number Nine?_

He could handle a little good-natured teasing. Whether his boyfriend could stand it was another matter.

"I hope my father's _boldness_ did not offend you." The Obari walked with the sway of sailors on a heaving deck, invariably bumping into their human escorts on the way down corridors, but the farther they got from civilisation the more of Lantellis's body seemed to be coming into contact with his until, by the turbolift they were glued from shoulder to thigh, her rich musk scent flooding his flared nostrils. "Your species take a pinker hue when you are discomfited in any way, I notice. It becomes you very well but I would not wish to cause you discomfort. You do know that, Trip?"

"I'm not embarrassed that easily, Ma'am." 

A bony finger waved and he could have gotten cross-eyed following its rapid movement. "Now my friend, is _Lantellis_ so difficult to say?" she crooned, her miniscule shuffle forward causing his rapid scrabble back. If the lift had opened into empty space he would have jumped right out.

As it released him onto E Deck instead he took an elongated pace that momentarily released the limpet from his side. "Your quarters are along here," he stammered, jabbing a finger in the general direction. Lantellis's tinkling laughter rippled like running water through the hall.

"I realise that, my dear Commander," she gurgled, recapturing his escaped limb. "Please - walk there with me. These corridors are so romantically lit, and your captain says my rooms will have the best views of my planet. I would like you to see the best of beautiful Obari."

"We're not gonna have time for shore leave, Ma' - sorry, Lantellis . Not this visit, anyway." He was babbling. He always did when he couldn't find the words for what he really wanted to say. Like: _Back off, lady, I'm taken_. Or: _Malcolm Reed, I love you. Please don't run away!_

The most important two sentences of his life. Trip still didn't know how he'd managed to get them out. 

Lantellis's hand began a rhythmic stroking up and down his arm. "That is a great pity," she whispered, the soft brush of her breath against his ear enough to chill the engineer to the marrow. "But we have time tonight. You and I have so many cultural differences we could explore!"

Panic. He never felt it when the engines were pushing overload, or a whole horde of angry aliens were on his tail, but being pawed by a predatory female the instinct kicked in. Trip yanked himself away.

"Ah'm real sorry, Lantellis, but I was kinda plannin' on spendin' the night with mah boyfriend," he blurted, not understanding what he was saying until the words clanged back off the deck plating, their thickened echo reverberating down the corridor's length. The long hands that had stretched to stop his escape dropped. The few faint traces of colour that warmed her hawkishly beautiful features blanched out.

"Boy friend?" she echoed, doubt resonating through her fluting tones. "Forgive me, Commander - I do not understand. Your species... it chooses to tumble within its own gender group?"

"Human sexuality's complex, Ma'am." She didn't decry the formality; in fact, he noticed with relief, it was her turn to back away when he would have approached. "I'm what we call bisexual, and yeah - I'm involved with another guy."

"I see." Even to a man familiar with Reed levels of frostiness, Lantellis's cooling off went way beyond Arctic. Tucker could almost see the icicles forming off the bulkheads. "I apologise, Commander. Had I known that you were claimed, I would not have pressed my suit."

"Yeah, well, it's kind of a new thing, so Malcolm an' I haven't exactly told anyone yet..."

The narrowing of her almond-shaped gold eyes stopped his embarrassed mumble as effectively as an old-fashioned cloth gag. "That is, ummm, well, ah'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone what ah've jus' said."

The thickening of his accent - _a real turn-on_ , according to his bashful boyfriend between the sheets two nights ago - evidently displeased her. Either that, Tucker decided, or the humiliation of being turned down for a man was sinking in. "I am Obari. We understand _discretion_ , Commander."

"I 'pprecciate that, Ma'am." 

No coquettish correction this time, just the smallest pupping of well-moulded, succulent lips. "But who is this _Malcolm_? I do not recollect..."

"Lieutenant Reed." He stood a little straighter, proud just to say his partner's name. _Malcolm Reed chose me_. He had a feeling the look on his face probably screamed it.

He might have been imagining it, but he thought the lovely face on a level with his softened a fraction. "He is a handsome male," Lantellis conceded, and when her spread fingers wrapped around his arm, this time, Tucker did not pull away. 

"Yeah," he agreed faintly. "He is. Your quarters..."

"I can find my way. Goodnight, Commander Tucker."

Before he could stammer a reply, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip knows there's some talking to be done. Persuading Malcolm to listen is the first hurdle he has to overcome...

For several moments he stared after her, feeling the familiar aftershocks of a near miss rippling through his body; the shaky hands, the sudden tightening across the ribcage, the difficulty breathing he associated with getting past another gun-toting alien crazy. Carefully, Tucker rubbed his fingertips over closed eyelids, willing himself back under control.

Why did every alien chick he met think being friendly meant he wanted to check out her pants from the inside? He didn't set out to flirt!

Not with the only person he wanted hovering on the edge of the room and half of Starfleet's finest snickering about _Commander Tucker's latest conquest_. Malcolm was going to kill him.

If he was lucky. Because the alternative didn't bear thinking about.

He checked every turn in the hall before making it; peeked left and right before exiting the turbolift on B deck as if he were a greenhorn cadet with no right to be among the officers' quarters. Then, outside his lover's door, he hesitated.

Maybe it would be better to leave Malcolm overnight; give him time to cool off. 

_Right. Or to steam himself up like Momma's favourite poached cod._

Decision made, he keyed in the code and stepped into the enveloping darkness of an interior cabin. Leaving Mal to stew? he was worried, but he wasn't suicidal. Not yet, anyway.

As always it took time for his eyes to adjust to the complete gloom; then, slowly, the enveloping blackness teased itself out into subtle separate masses: the solid black shape of Malcolm's desk, his monitor rearing from the surface; the low-lying length of a bunk. And stretched along it, every line so still and taut it screamed the wakefulness it tried to hide, a human form.

"Malcolm?" His lover was perfectly conscious of his presence, Tucker knew, and too innately polite to ignore a direct appeal when his _"I'm asleep, please bugger off"_ act was shown to have flopped. "Darlin' can I join you?"

The black blob turned and when he squinted the Southerner could just make out the bloodless line of tightly-pulled lips that barely parted to spit out a bullet of a word. "Why?"

"Because I've been playin' nice to a freaky alien chick all evening when all I really wanted to do was hold my incredible human man?" he tried.

"Really?"

Coming out of pitch blackness the familiar word sounded hard. Unfriendly. Any sensible person, Trip suspected, would take it as a sign and head for the hills.

Tuckers - especially Tuckers in love - were not sensible people. He set his feet apart, squared his shoulders, and stayed put.

"Really."

"I'm very tired, Trip." There was a minute hesitation before the nickname; as if Malcolm had been ready to use the hated baptismal designation and stopped himself just in time. "Perhaps you ought to leave."

By Reed standards the suggestion was a straight-out order. _Lucky for me Tuckers are born insubordinate!_

"I'm beat too," he said, injecting the faintest wheedle into the words. "And your bed's a whole lot nearer than mine..."

"I'm sure you can find your way there easily enough; if you don't get dragged off-course toward E Deck."

The irritation that flared in his chest at the unwarranted innuendo might have forced his hand, Tucker knew, if there hadn't been that telltale quavering in his lover's voice on the final word. "Aw, Malcolm!" he sighed, collapsing onto the edge of the bunk too fast for its shrivelling occupant to protest. "Darlin' come here, it's okay."

Reed crabbed backwards until he was jammed hard against the bulkhead, knees drawn up to his chin. Deep down Trip knew the posture was defensive but somehow it just looked scared. "Oh, is it now?" he enquired and as the Southerner backed off his confidence visibly grew, the taut form unfolding with the bristling energy of an irate tomcat. "You can fawn all over some fancy alien tart in full view of the ship's company all evening, but it's quite all right; you're only doing what's expected in the name of _interplanetary relations_ aren't you?"

Tucker sucked in a deep breath, giving himself an extra moment of contemplation before responding. "Now what would you have expected me to do? Tell her in the middle of the mess that, sorry, lady, I'm already plannin' my hot night with that pissy piece of best British beef glarin' a hole through the hull?" he wondered.

"Well, I might have expected a little _decorum_ when she started feeling you up like a breeder at the cattle market."

His temper was building. Tucker could feel it, a solid block swelling behind his ribs, and while he knew his man was hurting the accusation's straight-up unfairness was just the spark he needed. "Dammit, Malcolm, you're the one who doesn't want to _cause a scene_!â€ he hollered, forcing his usually languid accent into a clipped approximation of his lover's British precision. "I'd be shoutin' from the top of the saucer section I'm taken, but oh, no! We can't have anyone _knowin'_ about us, can we? Hell, Enterprise'd fall outta space. Starfleet Command would crumble if anyone ever knew two male officers were actually havin' sex!"

"That's what we've been doing, is it?" That sharp cracking sound was Reed's hand coming down on the wall-mounted panel, Tucker realised when harsh white light - maximum setting - flooded the cabin. "Then perhaps it's just as well nobody knows, Commander. God forbid they might actually assume we were having a relationship instead!"

_Open mouth, insert boot. Sideways._

"We _are_ in a relationship, Malcolm; least, that's the way I've been lookin' at it." Tuckers were reared to yell, scream, then forget about it but Reeds, as Trip had learned the hard way, did things differently. Moving slowly he backed off the edge of the bed and folded himself into Malcolm's desk chair, hands dangling between his knees. "And I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. It's never been just sex with us. You know that."

"I thought I did." Calmed against his will by his partner's level tone Malcolm dropped his hands from their defensive clench, teething his bottom lip. "I'm sorry. Seeing her all over you... it's shaken me."

"I wasn't enjoyin' it. Hell, I kept tryin' to escape!"

"You like women, Trip." The fact was as unarguable as the inevitable follow-up. "And they swarm 'round you. I - I can't compete with that."

"Malcolm, you great dope." Tucker knew fear when it looked him in the face, and it was right there in the eyes of a man most of the human race thought immune. "If you'd only look, it's _them_ that can't compete with _you!_ I know I flirt sometimes, but... Hell, if you'd jus' let me flirt with you in the mess I'd be the happiest man in the galaxy!"

"I can't." Moisture brimmed, brightening eyes of mixed platinum and steel. Taking a shaky breath, Reed compressed his lips, blinked twice, and pressed on.

"It's safer this way. I - it cripples me to see them all fawning over you and I'm always on the edge, just waiting for that lightbulb to come on over your head when you look at one and think - that's where I should be."

"You'll be waiting a lifetime for that, Mister Reed." Trip ached to touch the man: to convey his feelings in a way even Malcolm couldn't misinterpret, but something held him back, the nagging realisation that one wrong move now could be fatal to the best thing he'd ever had. "I love you. I think you love me. I know you're scared of bein' hurt, because so'm I. But I think we're worth the risk. Heck, if nothin' else all those alien chicks'd stay away! Lantellis dropped me like a piece of smelly cheese when I said...

Mercurial. It was the last word most people would apply to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, scion of an old-established seafaring dynasty. But then, most people hadn't looked into those captivating eyes the way Trip Tucker had.

When they darkened with repressed anger and narrowed with suspicion, he figured they were the lucky ones. "You told her about us?" Reed grated, his fingers clenched together, kneading at his bedding like a large chocolate-and-cream cat. "For fuck's sake Trip, why didn't you just shout it over the shipwide comm.?"

In the split second it took to bite off his first response Tucker assembled a hasty second, more palatable and less incendiary. "You really think Miss _Ain't I Gorgeous_ is gonna confess to bein' turned down for a man?" he yelped, the sudden change in volume making his companion wince and pout. "She'll tell her Daddy I got some disgustin' habitat - say she was too damn tired to - to..."

"I believe _tumble_ is the term her father used, Commander." Deep in the heart of the faux dramatics was a kernel of cold, hard logic Malcolm couldn't quite ignore, and from its stony core he felt a giddying rush break free. "Christ almighty! It took all that _proper British reserve_ the crew jokes about to stop myself lamping the cheeky bastard when he started questioning me on your _fertility and family circumstances_!"

Thunderstruck, Trip could only parrot the last four words in an incredulous stammer. "My face must've been a picture," Reed added gleefully. "And I dread to think what the captain said to him..."

"What's Jon got to do with this?" And did he really, Tucker wondered, want to know? Malcolm shrugged.

"Oh, I suggested your best friend might have more information on your circumstances - financial as well as familial my dear, I think he was looking at a maintenance claim somewhere down the line. And _please_ pick your face off the floor, you'll be dribbling all over my carpet."

"Sorry." Humiliating as it was to know he'd been looked over like a prize bull - and in front of Johnny, of all people - the memory had brought a softening of Malcolm's posture and a sparkle to his eye. If galactic-level embarrassment was the price to be paid for that, Trip wouldn't hesitate. "I coulda really used one of those heroic rescues you're so good at, you know?"

"So could I, love." The endearment was unconscious, rolling the last of the lead weights away from Tucker's shoulders. "I'm sorry for being a paranoid jealox-knees. I love you so much it scares me..."

"Right there with ya, Mister Reed." The naked vulnerability that cracked the Englishman's voice did the self-same thing to Trip's abused heart. "I'm scared of you seein' the light too; you're a mighty good-looking man, and there's plenty of both sexes who see it. I didn't mean to lead Lantellis on, and I sure as hell didn't want to see you bein' hurt by folks gigglin' at Commander Tucker's latest conquest..."

"Actually, they call you Commander Fucker."

"They do not!"

"I think you'll find they do. Ask the Captain."

"Thanks buddy, but I've been embarrassed enough for one lifetime." Tentative, Trip held out a hand. "You mind if I come to bed now? It's gettin' late..."

The other man's well-cut bottom lip disappeared beneath his top teeth. "I really don't feel up to anything tonight," he stammered, once more unable to meet his boyfriend's hopeful stare. Trip shrugged.

"Me neither. But I'd kinda like to feel you there beside me as I fall asleep. What do you say?"

Shyly smiling Malcolm cast aside the covers, exposing his nude length to Trip's appreciative gaze. "Turn the light off when you get in," he whispered, warm colour cresting his prominent cheekbones as Trip struggled out of his uniform. "I - and you can stay 'til morning if you'd like."

Joy, disbelief, triumph and a wild, irrational fear. They swelled and merged inside his gut until Trip Tucker couldn't breathe. "I'd like that a lot," he pledged, killing the illumination with a flourish before he toppled full-length onto the low bunk at his lover's side, the covers fluttering down to engulf both men like giant wings. "G'night darlin'."

"Goodnight, love." The last cramps of tension uncurled from his muscles. Feeling more content than he ever had in his life Malcolm snuggled up behind the blond, his chin rested comfortably on the man's strong shoulder. 

His fears would come back; he knew himself too well to doubt that. The next time a buxom stranger took a shine to their handsome engineer he would...

"Trip?"

"Yeah?" 

Malcolm drew in a deep breath, draped an arm over the magnificent body against him and asked for the one thing he had never thought he would be brave enough to claim. "Will you hold my hand at movie night?"

By the shiver that ran through him he gathered Trip understood. He always did. "Course I will."

"Thank you."

For a few moments the dark room remained silent. Then, quietly, just on the edge of laughter:

"Uh, Malcolm? I'm not _really_ gonna be restricted to just your hand, am I?"


End file.
